I Don't Feel Like a Hero
by Power of the Pen12
Summary: iSaved Your Life with a Seddie twist. Oneshot.


**An old story of mine was just nominated for the UFO awards; it amazes me that people liked my writing that much, so I went and wrote a Seddie oneshot. To anyone who's been reading my writing for any amount of time? You rock my socks. Much love!**

**~*~**

"Everyone at school's saying you're a hero."

I scoffed. "That's dumb."

"You are!" Carly insisted. My heart was beating sporadically. Uncomfortably. Something was wrong, here. Because this was every fantasy I had ever had, played out with the scent of Carly's perfume lightening the room.

"I'm not a hero!" I said.

"You almost got killed saving my life! That makes you a hero," she said with her voice jumping an octave. So cute. My leg was on fire; the feeling spread, every part of me burning silently as I watched, anticipated. Carly had that look, one I had sculpted in my head time and time again.

"I don't feel like a hero."

"Well, you are one," Carly pressed. She advanced, perching herself on my bed. The bed hardly made any sound as it sagged under the weight of both of us—its springs had been oiled one too many times by mother dearest. "To me."

She was crushing my leg; the pain of it sparked up my nervous system, and I made to cry out, but then—

Carly's hair falling across my face, soft and flowery, a curtain sealing us off from the world. Her lips meeting mine, holding me captive; I couldn't think, not with my dream of dreams coming true, so lovely in reality.

She drew away, came back, kissed me again. This couldn't be real, I was drowning in endorphins…

But I wasn't. And I _could_ think, could even detach myself from the situation like it was a particularly dry class; I kissed back, waiting for the magic to hit me with a musical flourish. Again and again, feeling the tenderness of her lips, and the nothingness past that.

Horror seeped through my veins like ice; a memory of a different kiss, a less fairytale-like situation, was assaulting my brain. A smoky fire escape. Sam's eyes wide open, failing to learn proper kissing etiquette. The array of emotions that had plagued me for weeks. In theory, so much less than this moment…but the sleepless nights afterward, replaying her awkward apology over and over?

Carly pulled back, snapping me from the depths of my head into the moment. "You okay?" she said, grinning.

"What?" Always a clever one, Freddie.

"Are you okay?" she articulated.

"Uh, yeah," I stuttered truthfully. I pulled up an appropriate look; stunned, joyful even? I was neither. "Uh, I just, um—could you hand me my Galaxy Wars stun blazer?"

Carly was bemused. "Uh, sure. Where…?"

"Right up there," I gestured.

"Ah." She handed it to me; I looked at her, stared at her with a terrifying lack of what I'd always felt—the swoop in my stomach, the feeling that my heart was beating right out of my chest to get to her— and jammed the stun blazer to my neck.

When the toy was torn away and I swore I could smell bacon, Carly was still Carly and I couldn't experience the desperate love anymore. Had she just been a challenge? No, the love… was gone…?

"Why'd you do that?" she exclaimed.

"Just makin' sure I'm awake," I lied weakly. "Yep, this is happening." _And I don't care._

Carly giggled, believing every word. Why wouldn't she? It would've been true last year, or the year before that. "You want it to happen again?" she asked flirtatiously. God, I should have felt my entire being sizzle with glee.

"Uh… sure?"

Her hair, dancing eyes, clever smile and eternal warmth hadn't changed a bit. And I loved her for it. But not… not in the way I always had, or thought I had. She kissed me again, and I felt the very same, working through a strange epiphany.

I raised a tentative hand, placed it on her shoulder and pushed gently. She got the message, leaning back a little; there was hurt in her eyes already. She was so delicate.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Your mom's not gonna be home for a strong twenty-seven minutes or so."

"I know. Uh, Carly… I don't know if this…" I gestured to the two of us, arms flapping like a bird, "will work out."

"What?"

Her voice was suddenly hard as rock, and, miraculously, also incredibly brittle. I cringed.

"Why?" Carly said, tongue passing over dry lips, a nervous habit.

"Ah… y'know… the things that… mphhermph," I faded into intelligible sounds. Carly cocked her head.

"Huh?"

I sighed slowly. "I've liked you forever."

"No, really?" She quirked an eyebrow.

"At some point… it must've… uhm…"

"You don't like me anymore?" Carly confirmed quietly.

"I'm hurt, remember," I laughed nervously. "Broken leg, big hero… don't get mad."

"I'm not mad. It's fine. Wow, I feel like an idiot." Carly giggled, blushing, and ran a hand through her hair, gathering up the deep brown strands and playing them into a ponytail, which she then released. "I'll just go, then."

I was powerless to stop her, but something felt off now, a piece of our relationship knocked askew. That one gaping defect would be in the backs of both our minds forever if I didn't kick it back into place, but I had no idea how.

"Wait!" I made to get up, forgetting my injury, and toppled from the bed. Splitting pain began throbbing up and down my leg, lesser, duller pains making themselves known along the rest of my body. My exposed toes flexed as I yelled.

"Oh my gosh—oh my gosh! Freddie!" Carly was at my side, eyes wide, trying and failing to help me up again. I was groaning, and humiliation pricked my face as I felt tears gathering in my eyes.

Finally, Carly was able to help me back up. I had growled indistinguishable nonsense the whole time, sniffling and completely unaware of what I said. When I felt the cushy bed underneath me, I succumbed to its comfort, willing the pain to subside.

"Wait, what? Repeat that," Carly demanded. I stared blankly.

"Bwuh?"

"You just—you said, 'Sam, wish you were… love,'" Carly repeated my fragmented sentence, and I blushed all the harder.

"So, is it gonna be weird between us now?" I asked in a frantic subject change. Carly narrowed her eyes.

"Wait a second, there, Fredward. Why would you say that?" she demanded.

"I don't know, okay?!" I sounded so defensive. "Maybe you should go, I'll see you—"

"When did you stop liking me?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Does Sam know?"

"Know what?"

"_Does Sam know_?"

"I don't—"

"I'm not angry or anything, but you could've told me, I wouldn't have kissed you if—"

"She doesn't know, I didn't even know until now, and I thought I was in love with you!" It had spilled out in a freeing tumble. Something clicked within my head. _Sam._

"You want to talk?" Carly asked quietly. I bowed my head, wondering what to say. What followed astonished me; every word was a surprise, though I heard it from my own voice.

"We kissed on the fire escape and I felt… crazy, okay? I'd never felt like that before, it was a zillion new feelings and I spent forever trying to figure it out. You're my dream, Carly, but Sam… she was suddenly my entire reality, you know? She was there, and you had never been."

Carly remained silent. Something like liquid was filming over her eyes, though she wasn't crying. I continued.

"Aw man, Carly, I think I love her. She'll rip out my small intestine and play jump rope with it. She hates me."

"She doesn't."

A puppet with its strings being lifted, I rose up, brightened.

"Can I tell her?" Carly asked. "She'll come up here, and—"

"Wait, does she…"

Carly sent a layered glance my way that I couldn't quite decode.

"I'm sorry about all this," I apologized. "I really, really am."

Carly's glossy lips parted into a brilliant smile, albeit a little forced. "I waited too long," she said, shrugging. "You're still a hero. Let me go get Sam."

She slid out the door, deep in thought. I waited, confused, entirely unsure about what was about to happen.

Twenty minutes later I heard a knock, stumbled to the door, and entered the insanely long password. Whimpering in pain, I flung myself back to the bed, heart thumping.

She entered rudely, letting the door bounce off the wall and slam behind her. Sam crossed the room in three steps with firelight reflected in her eyes, but how, there was nothing to reflect—

Sam grabbed my hair with one hand, kissed me briefly, and pulled back, not relinquishing my poor head. Fireworks were going off in some foreign distance only I—and maybe she—could hear. Her eyes probed mine, hers utterly unfeeling; mine unable to mask the sudden joy and fear ricocheting inside my head.

"You're crushing my stun blazer," I said weakly. Sam's knee was indeed pressing into the Galaxy Wars collectable (first edition). Her fingers knotted in my hair before letting go; and she was kneeling beside my bed, revealing nothing of what she was thinking.

"So," I said awkwardly, drawing out the word as long as I dared. Sam stared. It freaked me out a little bit.

"Sam…? Anyone there?" I waved a hand in front of her face, a little too close; my fingers grazed her nose, then her lips (devoid of gloss). Sam grabbed my hand, seemingly unsure whether to hold it or break it.

"Once you can walk," she said, dropping my hand, "we're going out. Tacos sound good?"

I gaped. "Are you serious?"

"It's the truck that hit you; not the poor taco's fault."

"Fine," I muttered. I felt a sort of calm understanding spread through my body, though my brain was still scrambling to make sense of the last hour. Sam looked like she felt the same way. After a moment's hesitation, she scrambled closer to me, clumsily pressing her lips to mine again.

If I expected everything to fall into place, I was sadly mistaken; I knew I liked her, and she apparently liked me. But the whole scene… the thumping of my heart so loud I feared Sam would tell me to shut up… it wasn't logical. Nothing ever was with us—the crazy things she had hit me with would baffle any psychiatrist, and that's just the start. Did I need to puzzle out our maybe-relationship now? Couldn't I just—

My musing was happily blown to pieces as Sam slowly pulled away yet again. The mask she had carved previous to this visit was peeling away; I could see warmth in her eyes, the tiniest of mischievous smiles gracing her mouth. There wasn't an appropriate word to fit the look. So different from the disgust and annoyance I was accustomed to being directed my way. Sam looked… _happy_ with me. As if I were a normal human being, instead of the gum stuck to her shoe.

"Your mom'll be back soon," Sam said, glancing toward the door. "I s'pose I could lock her out… she'd probably knock the door down…"

"It's happened before." I wasn't kidding.

"So I guess we're an _item_ now, huh?" Sam stressed the word 'item' facetiously.

I grinned. "Guess so." Words sprung to mind in a carefully laid-out speech of sorts. Maybe I had planned it subconsciously. I had so much so say. How glad I was this was happening, and I didn't even have to chase her. She had chased me before, I guess, but usually holding something that could hurt me, with every intention of breaking a few bones. How easy this was compared to the tangled web that was my past love for Carly, the constant rejections. I opened my mouth.

There was a series of beeping permeating the air; the two of us glanced at each other. We barely had time to exchange puzzled looks before the poor door was banged open for the second time. My mother stood like a bear in the doorway, holding a package of my underwear (the humiliation was nothing new).

"Freddie!" she cried shrilly. "What are you doing—why is Sam—hormonal teenage girls—"

Sam squeezed my hand once before darting from the room. Mom managed to land a blow on Sam's shoulder with my underwear; I could easily imagine Sam's mental shouts of _Ewewewewew! _

I was lectured for what seemed like hours, sprayed with at least ten different bottles my mother found on some sketchy kid-spraying site, and finally left alone as mom nearly lost her voice yelling about the dangers of (insert danger here). I nodded sycophantically, apologized profusely, and let her blow off steam. All the while I recalled the electrifying rush of emotion Sam had brought around, every word she had said… her cute indifference for my new phobia of taco trucks.

Just to be safe, I grabbed the stun blazer from where Sam's knee had dug it into the bedspread; taking a deep breath, I pressed it against my neck again.

Oh, bad idea. Bad idea bad idea bad idea bad idea. Twitching and wondering if I had damaged my brain, I threw the blazer across the room, where it hit the wall, buzzed once, and fell silent. I rubbed my neck, probably bright red by now, and grinned without really knowing it. If I had needed proof, that was good enough. I was awake as one could be. Sam; my girlfriend. I shivered once out of old habit, and drifted off into a surprisingly peaceful sleep for someone with stun marks on their neck and a leg victim of a runaway taco truck.


End file.
